Luke Babbitt 18 Points/4 Threes Full Highlights (2/23/2015)

“That was a pretty good win tonight, huh? All thanks to me.”

Luke Babbitt stared at the locker room mirror, his brow furrowed. “All thanks to you? I think you’re forgetting who actually takes and makes the shots here. Your presence is a help, no doubt about it, but what would you be without me? Nothing but a bunch of disconnected hair strands floating in some drain somewhere.”

Babbitt could feel the hair on his head tense up in anger. “Is that a threat, Luke? You talk a big game, but what were you without me? Just some scrub in Portland, already a bust on his rookie contract!”

Luke threw up his arms resignedly. “Let’s not argue, okay? We’re a team. And we should just be glad of the win. Besides, look what I’ve got!” He took out his hairbrush, and playfully faked pulling it through his sentient hair.

“Come on, come on! Don’t tease me like that!” Babbitt’s hair trembled. “Put it in! Caress me!”

After a few more fakes, Luke finally began to brush his flowing locks. “You like that, don’t you? Don’t you! You dirty whore! Take it! Take it all!”


Babbitt turned around suddenly. The Pelicans’ coach, Monty Williams, was standing there, looking puzzled.

“What are you doing, Luke?”

“Oh, you know. Brushing my hair. Gotta keep it nice for the ladies, right?” He had to get out of here. He could feel his hair tensing up again in the presence of his coach.

“There he is, Luke. The disgusting minutes-depriver. Do not be fooled by his jovial demeanor. He wants us to fail, Luke. He wants YOU to fail. Now is the time! Punish him! Kill him! KILL HIM!” it interjected, as Luke tried to keep calm.

Monty didn’t look convinced. “It sounded like you were doing something other than just maintaining your hair.”

“Oh. Well. Sometimes I really get into it,” he responded as his hair continued its assault on his thoughts.

“He will be made to pay for his transgressions! With BLOOD! I demand blood! Make him feel the pain we felt when we were benched!”

Luke covered his ears and ran out, past Williams, out the door, and into the muggy New Orleans night. Outside of the presence of his coach, the deranged instructions from his hair faded away, leaving nothing but the faint cry of seagulls, and a dull throbbing in his head.

“Next time you do that, I’m cutting you off, you hear me? And yes, that IS a threat.”

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